Sometimes when a story lands in our in-box it looks so good that our first thought is that it’s come from a Tourist Board, desperately trying to drum up some interest in their bit of the world. Perhaps they’ve blown their whole year’s marketing budget on some images shot against a green screen? But no, Katherine Moore’s Armchair Adventure in the Southern Highlands is the real deal. Early summer Scottish gravel riding never looked so good! Read on and prepare to be inspired.
"This was a low pressure, low expectations, let’s-just-have-a-go-and-see-where-it-takes-us-trip."
I’ve been exceptionally lucky to take on some incredible trips in my time. Carving out tidy niche as a gravel and bikepacking journalist, presenter, guide and event host, I’ve spent the last five or so years riding a huge variety of events and routes from racing the 200-odd miles of Unbound in Kansas to bikepacking races in the Catalonian Pyrenees and week-long gravel trips on otherworldly mountain tracks in Sri Lanka.
Of course, these trips are memorable. There’s a huge build-up to them, whether that’s making sure you’re physically (and mentally) fit enough to take on the challenge, dialling in your kit choices and getting your bike setup finessed – and often in my case – agreeing on the sort of media that you need to capture during and after the event. Photography, report write-ups, videos, event talks and route scouting all need some decent preparation.
Yet there are half a dozen trips that stick in my mind as some of the very best that are way off this scale. Not the sort where you pore over routes for months in advance, nor those with particularly complex logistics or planning. These are the spontaneous rides conjured up at a time of crisis, or the sort of in-between-trips rides. Low pressure, low expectations, let’s-just-have-a-go-and-see-where-it-takes-us-trips.
Mid-May saw just such an adventure - a couple of days riding across Scotland between a work press trip at Comrie Croft in Perthshire and another work trip, assisting artist Emily Powell on the Hebridean island of Tiree. With two days to get between Comrie and Oban on the west coast, I would have been a fool not to make the most of being so far from home and take in some Scottish riding.
Scotland is much praised as a gravel heaven, admittedly to the point that sometimes becomes a little exasperating. ‘We don’t have actual gravel in the UK unless you go to Scotland’ is a phrase I’ve heard a hundred times. Trust me folks, we do – you just need to know where to look for it.
"I’d trade in intrepid for practical in this case and savour the hot showers and hearty pub meals at the end of each day."
Without too much time to plan, I popped the start and end points into komoot and let it work its magic, seeing that Tyndrum would be a handy place to spend the night roughly halfway. Keen to keep the load light and sailing smooth, I opted for cheap hotel stays rather than camping. The last thing I wanted to do was turn up to a work week as a tired and stinking wreck from dodgy camping experiences. I’d trade in intrepid for practical in this case and savour the hot showers and hearty pub meals at the end of each day.
Keen for a sense check from a local, I shared my proposed route with Emily Greaves, a mountain bike guide who heads up Comrie Croft Journeys. It all checked out, though she confirmed my inkling that the track through Glen Kinglass on the second day would be really, really remote.
Some people really savour riding solo, but I’ve never been one of those riders. I’d much rather have someone by my side to share the awe of a landscape, share the laugh of a bog tumble and share a packet of empire biscuits.
I took a punt – as I often do – and put out a call on Instagram. Two days of riding across the Scottish Highlands, cheap hotels, gravel. It had worked for me years before and I’d ended up making some really close friends riding the Second City Divide at last-minute notice. Perhaps it could work again? Expectations were low, but it was worth a shot.
"I was going to be spending a whole two days just with this person I’d never met, as well as sharing a twin hotel room with them."
To my delight and surprise, somebody piped up to join the trip. Sophie came with a reference from my pal Sam at Field Trippers, an Essex-based gravel cycling community, though we had never met nor spoken online before. We exchanged numbers and brief plans, but no more than half a dozen messages. I was going to be spending a whole two days just with this person I’d never met, as well as sharing a twin hotel room with them, so some might see it as a risky move. I put faith in the universe and hoped for the best. Truth be told, I had too much other logistics to work out anyway and I was mostly just mighty glad to have some company and a second pair of hands if anything turned sour during the remote crossing of Glen Kinglass.
I was pretty exhausted when I met Sophie for the first time, rolling back into Comrie Croft after an incredible bikepacking overnighter and wild camp with Emily and our merry band of five other riders. We’d had such a blast riding a figure of eight loop on local gravel doubletracks, empty lanes and forested trails with an idyllic camp spot next to the river in Glen Lednock. The idea of riding two more days filled me with a little anxiety. Sophie was fresh and keen. Would I be able to keep up?
Joining us for our last night at the Croft, staying in the gorgeous bunkhouse and sharing our giant home-made cassoulet, Sophie listened politely to us regaling tales from the last few days. She’d been made redundant from her job in London a few weeks before, so heading up to Scotland for some wild gravel and headspace was just the remedy she craved.
Day 1 - Leaving the Comrie Croft oasis
Fast forward to midday on our first day, we’d already pedalled away from the Croft and alongside Loch Earn, passing the gnawed tree stumps left by the local beaver family, up the gravel railway track overlooking the loch and old drove road through Glen Ogle and snaked down the fantastic cycle route descent through the forest to Killin.
"The excitement of our trip spurred me on and we’d barely stopped chatting for a second all the way to our lunch spot."
After an overcast sky the day before, the sun was now out in full force, factor 50 slapped on abundantly and solar power somehow tapped straight to the legs. My worries about keeping up with Sophie had been quashed as the excitement of our trip spurred me on and we’d barely stopped chatting for a second all the way to our lunch spot. Retracing our pedal strokes from the day before in reverse, I was armed with our guide Emily’s local knowledge and had taken it upon myself to relay it all to Sophie - the spot where the locals swam in Loch Earn, the controversial history of the queen’s jubilee rail visit to Glen Ogle, the site of the world’s first seismometer and which Russian oligarch owned which castle.
Yet now in Killin, the path before us was new and that excited me even more. All we had to go off were a few komoot Highlight tips. Glen Lochy was a scenic paved road, then we’d head over the hill to follow the gravel trail around the southern edge of Loch Lyon, where apparently we were set to get wet feet.
Neither were wrong, but in our elated state in full sun, nothing could have prepared us for the beauty we were about to witness. The singletrack tarmac road up through Glen Lochy twisted and turned through the hills, revealing sequentially even more impressive vistas of the Trossachs beyond green farmland and angular patches of regenerating native woodland protected by high deer fences.
The dead-end road passed over a large cattle grid as we peeled off to the right to tackle the bealach (mountain pass) over to Loch Lyon. The tarmac quickly crumbled on this remote road snaking up the hillside, now only accessible to locals, one farmer coming the opposite way with an eclectic mix of four working dogs balanced obediently on the back of his quad as he kindly held one of the huge deer fence gates open for me to pass through.
As if what we hadn’t already witnessed hadn’t been remarkable enough, on summiting the pass we were confronted with more of it. Dropping down the crumbling tarmac road we sailed down to the dam of Loch Lyon, the only sign of human life for miles around bar the fence we rode through to access the gravel doubletrack alongside the side of the Loch.
"These were the kind of tracks that people fantasise about when they think of gravel riding in Scotland."
These were the kind of tracks that people fantasise about when they think of gravel riding in Scotland and we had just happened across them on the most beautiful day we’d seen all year. Keeping going was near-impossible, not due to the effort, but as I wanted to stop every few minutes to whip my camera out of my handlebar bag and capture the ever-changing view of the snaking trail ahead of us, bluebird sky and deep hues of the expansive loch.
We didn’t think twice about filling our bottles with the water from streams running off the high hillsides here into the loch as we crossed them, at first fairly shallow to ride through to step across larger stones. The further we rode along the loch the more serious these river crossings became and we soon learnt even on this dry sunny day just how we’d end up with wet feet as promised.
Rounding the corner around Beinn nam Fuaran, we followed Allt Kinglass as the early evening light began to soften, mountain peaks of different shapes towering above us as we pedalled down the glen beside trilling dippers on the water to join the West Highland Way. A short section of gravel singletrack lined with yellow gorse and rocky hike-a-bike would lead us into Tyndrum where a heavy carb dinner, warm shower and cosy beds awaited.
Day 2 - Heading for Glen Kinglass
Our second day held a varied menu before us - retracing our steps with a starter on the West Highland Way to the Bridge of Orchy, tackling the 'main course' of Glen Kinglass with its promised ‘rock slabs’ and then riding the final section, perhaps an easier 'pudding' - off-road on the National Cycle Network Route 78 over the last hill into Oban.
It had all started out so well, another bluebird day and so many friendly hikers to say hello to on the dreamy gravel road of the West Highland Way. Fresh tarmac to Loch Tulla was another delight, suddenly feeling like we were off the beaten track. As we turned a sharp left off the tarmac and through the tall pines into Clashgour Estate, we knew this was it - the remote Glen Kinglass lay ahead of us.
"A pair of walkers questioned the suitability of gravel bikes on this terrain."
The gravel was really chunky to start with, though level, before turning into a tussocky singletrack on the rough grassy bank alongside the meandering river. It was already pretty hot and I was daydreaming about a dip in the river when the first pair of walkers questioned the suitability of gravel bikes on this terrain. “Yep they’re absolutely fine” I called over, immediately realising that I now had to ride like an absolute God across this techy trail for the greater drop-bar good.
The temptation of the cool water was soon too much to resist and knowing that we had the whole day ahead of us, we stripped down to our bib shorts and bras on a deeper bend of the river and threw ourselves in for a bracing dip. One of the warmest days of the year so far, we sunned ourselves on the warm pebbles of the small beach to drip dry, memories of summer adventures that had come before suddenly flooding back.
After our relaxed break by the river, we carried on to tackle the rest of Glen Kinglass, the singletrack soon turning to a gravel doubletrack as it crossed the river back and forth. Sophie was much keener to ride the river crossings than I was, but wet feet were no problem on such a warm day like this. Even small groups of red deer could be spotted at the edge of the water in the distance, drinking or cooling themselves from the heat.
"Before we knew it, we were bouncing down rocky singletrack and pedalling across huge patches of grippy granite."
The doubletrack undulated as we passed between layered mountains on a magnitude we hadn’t seen the day before. Steadily the track became more technical, the first few small sections of granite rock slab now apparent. Before we knew it, we were bouncing down rocky singletrack and pedalling across huge patches of grippy granite while water tumbled down small waterfalls on the river to our left. Some patches of the road had clearly been built - large rocks studded into the ground giving a lumpy but quite thrilling ride. I wondered how old this valley passage might be and about the people who would have passed through it long ago.
Nearing the end of the glen, we met a farmstead junction where the trail dramatically changed to a wide and relatively smooth gravel road, changing from empty moorland to leafy native forest with a general downhill gradient. We’d loved the technical challenge and hike-a-bike sections, but the effort had clearly drained us both somewhat. We dreamed of a late lunch rather than endless Haribo and a good rest somewhere in the shade.
On the map, it didn’t look like a long way on the edge of Loch Etive to reach Taynuilt, where we could find a cafe or resupply, but the elevation graph told a different story. Rather than the long climbs and descents that you often get in these parts among the large-scale landscape, the stabby tooth-like section of the graph was more reminiscent of riding at home on Dartmoor. It seemed like we’d joined a quarry access road, with steep ups and downs alongside the side of the loch, but also rough and loose, which made some of the climbs on wearing legs in the heat of the day a real challenge.
"We washed our sweaty faces and filthy hands, while the friendly barista whipped us up some delicious flat whites."
We faced a tough section for the first time on the trip, hunger for proper food no doubt being the main culprit for both of us. I distracted myself by trying to find a nearby cafe on the edge of the village we were heading for. Those 12 kilometres seemed to last a lifetime, but we finally rolled to what could have been an absolute mirage in the forest. We washed our sweaty faces and filthy hands in Sitheag, while the friendly barista whipped us up some delicious flat whites, cheese toasties and homemade cakes. Half an hour of rest, rehydration and some proper food revived us to our former cheery selves, ready to continue with our final leg to Oban.
While we’d set out to ride off-road tracks on the trip, the following section of road was truly spectacular and much appreciated after the passage through Glen Kinglass. After a short climb over moorland from Taynuilt, we span our legs along the fresh tarmac lane through open pastures of Highland cattle. Following a slightly downhill gradient, the empty road seemed effortless, though you could certainly feel that we were nearing in on civilisation again here.
The final climb of the trip to Luachrach Loch and the golf club on the edge of Oban seemed pretty inconsequential now. We had our sights set on a sea swim for our second dip of the day and a box of fish and chips on Oban harbour wall.
The alpine-like hairpins of the descent soon saw us sailing into Oban, opting to ride through the town and north along the coast past the castle to the sandy beach at Little Ganavan. Let me tell you, the sea surely was colder than the river dip, some hours before.
"We soaked in the atmosphere of the place with a firm sense of smugness.."
Sat on the harbour wall in Oban salty, sweaty and smiling with a huge box of chips, local sole and a gherkin each on our laps, we soaked in the atmosphere of the place with a firm sense of smugness.
This hadn’t been our grandest sporting achievement, nor the most exotic setting. Yet to me, it had been just the spontaneous adventure I’d needed and no doubt the start of a new friendship. Gladly, I’m positive that Sophie would say the same.
If you would like to follow in Katherine and Sophie’s tyre tracks, you can find their route here: